


For your entertainment

by Sunwarmed_Ash_tree_and_the_dreaming_Stag



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Amazing Spider-Man 2, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Peter Parker, Bisexual Tony Stark, Drag, Gay Harry Osborn, Happy Ending, M/M, Palladium Poisoning, Prostitution, Secret Identities, Secret Relationship, Starker Happy Ending, Stripper!Peter, Tom lip singing Umbrella is to blame, Tony Stark has a heart after all, Underage for about 4 months, closeted!harry, dying!Tony, gay clubs, parts are MCU canon compliant, short lived Parksborn, strip clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-05-18 17:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunwarmed_Ash_tree_and_the_dreaming_Stag/pseuds/Sunwarmed_Ash_tree_and_the_dreaming_Stag
Summary: Remember when Tom Holland blessed us all with that beautiful rendition of Umbrella? Totally spurred a stripper fic.Secret identities aren’t just for superheroes anymore.At least that’s what Peter keeps telling himself as he walks through the employee doors of Nitro. In the six months he’d worked here, no one had recognized him. In reality, that probably had more to do with the shady, ‘rather remain anonymous’ clientele than his own ability at disguising himself, but whatever. In a way, it resembled the feeling of being Spider-man. He was still Peter Parker, but under the club lights and glitter, he was known only as Ruby Cobalt, and that was more freeing to him than even Spider-Man could be.Secret identities aren't just for superheroes. They are for people like Peter, Harry, Ian, and Jerome. The people who just want to exist in an unaccepting and sometimes cruel world.-*-Tony's on the edge with nothing left to lose. The poison in his chest has him desperate for one more victory lap before the race ends. The road to self destruction brings him to a gentleman's club by the name of Nitro. Little did he know how influential a one night stand with a dancer named Colbalt could be.





	1. Tony's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes before we continue since this is non canon compliant but takes themes and events from the MCU and sprinkles them in. 
> 
> -Peter is 17, almost 18 and working at a strip club to help May pay bills after Ben's passing  
> -Tony never got together with Pepper so he never removed the arc reactor  
> -Tony's palladium poisoning is happening now, not back in IM2  
> -SI is a tech company kind of like Apple, so he's not Iron Man, just Tony Stark  
> -While there are characters from Shameless and Queer as Folk this isn't a crossover fic. I just like them =] 
> 
> Also REALLY SORRY for everyone waiting on the Pandora's Box sequel. I had ideas for it and then it turned into this instead. Hopefully you enjoy this.

Tony shouldn’t be here. He really shouldn’t fucking be here. He knew the type of clientele clubs like Nitro brought in, as well as the number of illicit, not to mention  _ illegal,  _ activities that went on in the back rooms of the club. But fuck it, he was dying. By his calculations, he wouldn’t be alive to see 2021. And how had he taken the news of his rapidly ascending mortality? By being drunk more hours than he was sober, spiraling emotionally and professionally, and regressing back to dangerous habits that nearly killed him in his youth. The overwhelming feeling of helplessness had made him turn to the bottle and now that he had started, he couldn’t stop. Didn't want to stop. He didn't see the point. 

* * *

The last time Tony was in New York was 6 months ago on a business trip. The Oscorp founder and CEO of the company had just passed away, leaving his twenty year old son the sole beneficiary. The first thing Harry Osborn did as acting CEO was phone Tony, offer to pool their resources, and together become  _ the _ name in both software and hardware. Together, Oscorp and Stark Industries could wipe rival companies like Apple, Microsoft, and Google off the market. Tony, as politely as he could, declined the offer, knowing a merge of companies would piss off his shareholders. And to be frank, another PR nightmare was  _ not  _ something he needed right now. Mr. Osborn, or ‘just Harry’ as he insisted, was oddly enough ok with that. He said he only brought it up because his father had specifically requested it before he passed. Harry had different ideas for Oscorp’s future, and asked if Tony would be so kind, to be a sounding board for his new ideas. Encouraged by the ambition of someone so young, Tony was more than happy to be of assistance. 

As a thank you to Tony, Harry had taken him out to Masa for some of the most delicious, and expensive sushi of his life. A few hours and  _ several  _ bottles of Saki later, Harry had let slip of a Gentleman’s Club he tended to frequent located in downtown Queens. At first, Tony thought Harry might be kidding, hadn’t the man just gotten married? He could have sworn he heard something about that. But then again, Tony understood the double edged sword of prestige all too well. He had quite a few secrets of his own. Before Tony could think better of it and decline, Harry was calling for his driver. Tony chuckled and shrugged, to hell with it, it wasn’t like Tony to turn down strippers. 

When they walked through the doors of Nitro, Tony noticed something different about the dancers. Firstly, they were young, some nearly bordering on jail bait young, but that wasn’t nearly as big of a deal for people Harry’s age. That wasn’t the part that stuck out though. What struck him as odd was the fact that the dancers were all young  _ men,  _ not young women like Tony had assumed they’d be. Tony couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Harry had taken him to a gay bar. Hell, a gay  _ strip club. _ The funniest part though, Tony was actually excited.  

Tony had known since he was 16 that he liked cock just as much as he liked pussy. His sexuality had never been a problem for him. However, since taking over the company after his dad died, his name became a brand, held a certain type of prominence in the world. The world had no problem with Tony being a womanizer and a playboy, as long as his relationships were purely heterosexual. The vast majority of SI shareholders were conservative, straight men in their late 60’s who happened to be very publicly, and proudly, homophobic. Tony didn’t need the backlash that would come from a public outing, nor did his same sex partner. Besides, there should be some anonymity to his life, even if it was something he wasn’t in the slightest bit ashamed of. He had a feeling he and Harry shared this same philosophy. 

Harry was somewhat of a regular to this club it seemed, if the little waves and winks across the club from numerous dancers were any indication. It was amusing to witness, and reminded Tony of his days in college. Well, after college. He couldn’t get into a bar at 14 no matter how good his fake ID looked. 

Harry lead the way to his private booth which gave them a perfect view of the stage and bought the first round. He made sure to tip the waiter well, causing both Tony and the waiter’s eyes to widen in shock. But it shouldn’t have been that shocking, Harry was sitting on a wealth almost as big as Tony’s. His father left him a multi-billion dollar company in his passing, it wouldn’t surprise him if Harry made sure the staff was well reimbursed for their services. 

The backroom of the club, as Tony had later found out, was used by only a few dancers, ones that were looking for extra income and had a flexible moral compass. Harry had admitted to sleeping with one of the dancers in particular, on numerous occasions.

“Hey, if he consents and I consent, who’s it hurting really?” Harry slurred out that night, brushing off his admittance. Tony didn’t think he could argue with that.  

* * *

Tony had arrived in New York just after 8 pm, buzzing hard and in need of some sort of physical release. Self-driving cars were a blessing, but he knew he was pushing his luck drinking in the backseat. If he had gotten pulled over he surely would have been arrested. Though it wasn’t like he’d live long enough to finish out his sentence. 

Tony stumbled out of the car and pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie tighter to conceal his face.  He knew once inside, no one outside of Harry would recognize him. The club was too dark and the people who frequented weren’t the type of people who’d even know who Tony Stark  _ was _ let alone think anything of it. They’d just see him as some old dude checking out guys half his age. He kept his hood up just in case as the doorman let him through. 

The club was still pretty empty, which was okay with Tony. He wasn’t big on crowds in small spaces. There were probably a dozen or so customers and just as many dancers. The music had just started to switch to one with a heavier bass and Tony waved over a waiter in nothing but gold short-shorts for another drink. If he was going to die, might as well go out having a good time. 

* * *

 

There seemed to be a theme night going on tonight, that much Tony was able to put together. It wasn’t a bad theme honestly, but also not one he’d go for all the time. Almost all the male dancers were in some form of drag. Some very little, others very extreme. Tony’s eyes landed on the more conservatively dressed ones. The ones in black fishnets, short-shorts and matching halter tops. Or the boys who could really make thigh high boots work. Tony couldn’t imagine walking, let alone  _ dancing _ in heels. Pepper wore them all the time and he never understood how her feet didn’t kill her by the end of the night. 

Just thinking about Pepper had Tony motioning to the waiter for his third drink in an hour. The man who came over was tall, red headed, and muscular with gold short-shorts on. His eyes were lined with black liner and faint gold glitter shone above his eyelids. It complimented his skin tone as well as his eyes. He was older than some of the dancers but still not the oldest. He was probably in his early 20's. He came over with a dazzling smile and blown wide pupils that indicated he was likely high on something. Cocaine or Crystal Meth if the club scene stayed the same as it did when Tony was 20. The man greeted him with a smile. 

“Well hey there, I was beginning to think you forgot about me.” 

Tony smirked. The kid was obviously angling for a tip. Tony had only been here an hour and to be fair he hadn’t drank anything since the two double shots he had upon entering. But he desperately needed to keep his buzz going. The pain in his chest had gotten worse on the drive up and he was tired of drinking the chunky, murky colored Chlorophyll cocktail that smelled about as good as it tasted. His blood toxicity was heightening everyday and Tony was no closer to finding a replacement than he was two months ago. He was just so tired of failing. He tried, he really did. He tried to be better, be more responsible, and look what it got him. Thanks a bunch Yensin for the extra couple of years, at least he got a chance to try to change his legacy before it was taken away from him. 

Tony cleared his throat and his head before flirting back. “Oh I could never forget about you sweetheart.” He had no intention of pursuing the man any further, oh no, he had his eyes on one dancer in particular. One now that he thought about it, hadn’t made an appearance yet tonight. 

“Bring me another double? Black Label. And whatever other top shelf shit you got. Here. Oh, and can keep the change.” 

Tony handed the man two hundreds, knowing the drinks would cost anywhere between $60 and $100. 

The kids jaw dropped and he looked at the money before raising his eyebrow suspiciously at Tony. 

“No, really. Just the drinks, no dance, no catch. Just hurry on it will ya?” 

“Yes sir, right away,” The redhead said and something about the way he said it told Tony that was a phrase he had lots of practice with. 


	2. Go on and let the rain pour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild homophobic language  
> Mild blood/gore tw (small cut)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, I envision Tom Holland's Peter Parker and Dane Dehaan's Harry Osborn. Feel free to imagine who you like, I just thought I'd give a frame of reference :)

_ “Shit!” _

He was late. He was  _ so  _ fucking late. Sap was going to kill him, or worse, fire him. God damn did he need this job! Why did he think that napping for 20 minutes was going to work?! That never worked! In an effort to save time, he yanked the mask over his face and grabbed his web shooters, if he was lucky he’d make it to the club by 9:45. 

* * *

The sign flashed  _ Nitro _ , in cerulean blue letters so bright Peter wouldn’t doubt if the across the street neighbors had resorted to black out curtains to combat the tacky illumination. 

You’d think, for a strip Club, the owner would want the sign to be a little more discreet, a little less ostentatious. Especially since Sapperstein wasn’t running the most legal operation. According to Michelle’s older brother Jerome, the club had been shut down three times in the past for nefarious reasons. But each time, Sap somehow managed to get the club up and running again, dubbing the club the nickname “The Queen’s Herpes,” the gift that just kept on giving. It was not a respectable establishment by any stretch of the imagination, but it hired minors, and that was beneficial for Peter. 

Peter dropped down from a building across the street and shoved the mask and shooters in his backpack before sprinting through the back door. It was 9:47 pm, that meant he only had 13 minutes to slip into costume, put on his make up and get his ass on stage. 

Wonderful. 

* * *

Peter slipped out of his sweater and jeans quickly, knowing he was already cutting close on time. He had completely forgotten it was Thursday! Thursday was drag night. Well, more like drag lite. No one here knew how to do drag makeup to save their lives and the men who frequented their establishment were bigger fans of the tights, corsets, and halter tops than they were of full costumes anyway. It honestly still blew his mind how popular the stupid theme night had become. 

Especially since it started off as just a joke. 

_ 8 Months Ago _

 

The club was still in its infancy and Sap was just beginning to put together his staff of performers. So far, they consisted only of Peter, Ian, Jerome, and Justin. It had been exhausting, trying to run a club every night with such a skeleton staff but they were all desperate for money. Turns out the need for rent money and food was a good motivator. 

It was Thursday after closing, and Ian, Jerome, Justin and he were just sitting around, shooting the breeze, talking about absolutely nothing when Jerome mentioned something about how good Rihanna looked in the Umbrella music video. Peter had busted up laughing, causing the other 3 to give him looks ranging from pointed to concerned. He then explained how he and Michelle learned the videos choreography for the talent show that past year. It all went to shit from there. Ian dug up the early 2000’s pop hit and plugged his phone into the speaker jack as Jerome dimmed the lights. Peter rolled his eyes, but with the nagging “support” from his friends and the two shots of cheap, clear liquor in his body he got his ass on stage. He nailed the choreography as promised, impressing everyone, even the most skeptical Jerome. His performance gaining a well deserved round of whoops, hollers and applause from his friends. 

Unfortunately for Peter, Sap, short for Sapperstein, the club manager, also happened to see. A smarmy smile spread over his face as he slow clapped Peter’s performance. Peter swallowed hard and shivered, that guy gave him the creeps, but he knew he had to play nice if he wanted to keep his job. Sap was impressed by the fluid motion of Peter’s hips, and knew that given the right outfit, he’d look even better. Peter held back the vomit that threatened behind his teeth as Sap gave him his daily head to toe once over.  

“This is just what this place needs,” he said, walking around Peter as if imagining what the full picture would look like. “I knew you’d be great Peter.” 

For the first couple of weeks, Peter hates the night. Every time he stands on stage he can feel Sap’s eyes all over him (thanks a lot spidey sense). But after a few weeks, it becomes popular enough that Sap is too busy managing all the additional revenue to watch the same old routine. That was when Peter really started to shine. In all actuality, he knew he looked damn good in tights, and he liked the way the corset hugged his body. The make up got easier to put on, and the shoes stopped bothering his feet. He could do without the wig though, he didn’t like the way it fell in his eyes and got stuck in his lip gloss. 

Drag nights started becoming one of his favorite nights. Because here, under the lights of the club and the layers of makeup, he felt hot, accomplished,  _ wanted _ . The moment he stepped into the club he became an entirely different person. Here he was beautiful, sexy, and perfect. He’d be a fool to throw that away.

Peter heard the music change from electronic and synthy to one with a heavy bass and cursed. The announcement of his stage name over the loudspeakers signaled the end of his remaining time and he stopped to look in the mirror.  _ Good enough _ . He adjusted the wig so it sat on properly on his face before tucking a long black strand behind his ear. He let out a long breath. 

“Showtime.”

* * *

The chairs lining the stage were nearly full, as were the seats at the bar and the plush red couches lining the walls backing the VIP lounge. It was oddly full for a weeknight, but Drag Night had really started to pull a crowd since Sap made him the opening act. 

Peter really shouldn’t complain. Sap was really doing him a huge favor by making him the opening act. It had been proven on more than one occasion that the opening act always got the best tips. Some nights, the tips were so good Peter didn’t have to work the private rooms. The ones filled with horny strangers with hands like an octopus’. But by far Peter’s favorite part of Drag Night was Harry. Harry  _ never _ missed Drag Night. 

As the beginnings of Umbrella began to play, Peter made sure to catch Harry’s eye. When he got a wink back he knew he’d definitely be getting laid tonight. 

* * *

After his set ended, Peter searched for Harry again. He was in his usual spot, in the back left corner in a large single chair just to the right of the VIP door. When Peter smiled at him, the other man looked like he could hardly return the gesture. He was intensely focused on the contents of his drink. Something happened, between the start of his set and now, he could feel it. No heightened senses required. 

When Jerome took Peter’s previous place on stage, Peter used that opportunity to cross the club floor to see Harry. He gave a nod to Cliff, one of the clubs bouncers guarding their room, and followed Harry’s lead inside. He didn’t dare speak a word until they were safely inside the private room. 

“Har? What’s w-”

“We need to talk.” 

He sounded hollow, scared, nothing like his usual self. Peter  _ hated  _ it. It set his teeth on edge. He tried not to allow his panic to show through, it was Peter’s job to put Harry’s mind at ease, both as his friend and his client. 

“O-Ok Har, tell me what’s on your mind.”  

Harry took a seat in one of the arm chairs in the room, his gaze a thousand miles away. Peter realized he hadn’t answered him and tried to bring him back down to Earth. 

“We can do whatever you want tonight,” Peter tried, pushing Harry’s arms to the side to straddle his lap. “Tell me what’s on your mind baby.”  

Harry still wasn’t looking at him, and before Peter could ask another question, the glass in the blonde’s hand was exploding in his grasp. Peter gasped and nearly jumped out of his skin.  

Harry cursed quietly but otherwise didn’t seem phased. Peter on the other hand could smell the blood before it even beaded to the surface and was leaping from his spot on Harry’s lap to attend to his injured hand. 

Peter grabbed a few tissues from the bedside table and kneeled into the carpet, making sure to avoid any stray glass shards. Sap was already going to be pissed about the booze on the carpet, didn't need to add blood to it. 

He attempted to clean up Harry’s hand as best he could, but there was a good chance it would need stitches. 

“Jesus Christ Harry,” Peter whispered as he looked over the two deep gashes. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I just-” but whatever Harry was going to say was halted by a wave of aborted sobs. Peter wrapped Harry’s hand and held it high, resting his knees on the carpet by Harry’s feet. Peter didn’t know what to do. They had gotten closer since they started sleeping together but Harry was still a client and Peter was still just a broke as fuck stripper-sometimes-hooker. They weren’t really friends by standard definition and definitely weren’t exclusive. He didn’t know what his boundaries were.

“Harry, love, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t- I can’t come by anymore.” Harry sniffed out finally and Peter blinked in surprise. 

“What? Why not?”

Harry sighed and sniffled, scrubbing his eyes with his good hand. 

“S-Someone saw me leaving here last week. Threatened to go to the press. I can’t- the board has already tried to take away my position as CEO because of my age, if they found out I was gay-”

Peter swallowed hard. 

“What about Felicia?”

Harry shook his head. “They saw right through it. Plus some backstabbing bitch friend of ours gave the guy all the inside details he needed to know about our marriage being a sham. A cover for me being a faggot.”

Peter flinched at the word. He had never been a fan of it, but he wasn’t going to give Harry shit about it in his already fragile state. He felt a knot form in his stomach as the reality of the situation finally sunk in. 

“This is goodbye.” 

“It has to be.” Harry sounded absolutely broken.    

“Hey, it’s alright Har. We both knew this wasn’t forever. Let’s get you cleaned up and then enjoy our last night okay?” 

“Okay,” Harry sniffled and nodded. 

Peter helped Harry up and through the staff only door which lead to a Jack and Jill style bathroom between the two private rooms. The bleeding had finally started to slow and Peter cleaned the wound as best he could before wrapping it in a soft hand towel. 

“Thanks Pete,” Harry said and Peter smiled in kind. 

Harry was the one person outside of the staff who knew his real name. He knew it was dangerous, stupid even, to let a client know your real identity, but Harry was different. Always was. They had gotten close over the past few months that it seemed okay, safe even. Harry would confide in Peter about his life, his work, and his sexuality. It only seemed fair Peter shared some of his own. Which is why it hurt so much that Harry had to leave. But Peter kept face. Harry didn’t need Peter’s emotional turmoil added to his own, and it would be selfish of Peter to try and make him stay. He knew how important Oscorp was to him since his dad's passing. 

Peter led Harry back to the large plush chair, helping him sit in a way that would keep his arm elevated. He leaned down to gently press their lips together. 

“How do you want me?”

Harry blushed and dropped his gaze. 

“A-Actually, could you top tonight?” 

_ That _ took Peter by surprise. Harry always topped. Said he loved the way Peter squeezed around him when he came. But everything about tonight was different, and Peter would be damned if he didn’t make their last night together everything Harry wanted. 

“Sure Har, how do you want to lay?”

“I want to look at you.” 

“Baby, this room has like 5 mirrors,” Peter teased lightly, touching Harry’s face lightly before pressing their lips together again. “Here, get on your back. Let me take care of everything.”

* * *

After some of the most emotionally draining sex of his life, Peter desperately needed some fresh air. Maybe even a cigarette, or fuck, something stronger if the pain in his chest didn’t ease. He shoved open the emergency door to a bricked alleyway, intended as a smoking area for staff. He sighed as the sharp, cool air gave him some grounding. 

“Rough night?” A voice asked and Peter looked up to see Mickey, smoking on a hand rolled joint. Peter let out an exhausted, humorless laugh. 

“You could say that, yeah.” 

Mickey nodded around the joint in his mouth and looked Peter up and down, taking in his limited state of dress. “Ain’t you cold?”

Peter hadn’t even realized it had begun to snow. Just small gentle flakes that were pushed into his face by a sharp, sudden windchill. He hadn’t thought to grab his coat, his head was too messed up from his previous interaction with Harry. 

“Nah man, I’m good,” Peter declined politely but Mickey just snorted, already shuffling out of his jacket. 

“You say that, but Ian’ll kick my ass if he sees you out here without a coat. Here.”

Peter let Mickey help him into an oversized, thick winter coat that looked ridiculous on his small frame. Peter wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it helped a ton. It was already warm from Mickey’s body heat and it made his already shitty night a little bit more tolerable. He gave the man a kind smile. 

“Thanks Mick. Hey, could I bum a hit off that?”

Mickey nodded and passed him his half smoked joint.  “Here, have the rest. You look like you need it more than I do.”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle.  _ Yeah, he really did.  _

“Customer giving you trouble?” 

“No, nothing like that,” Peter shook his head and inhaled, basking in those first few moments of bliss before blowing the smoke into the sky. “It’s just Harry you know? I feel bad for him. He’s always so worried about what other people think that he can’t really let himself be happy.”

“Ey, not everyone can be an out and proud fag like you and Ian. Take it from someone who knows.”

Peter gave the man a small, understanding smile to shorter man. Mickey was short and stocky but fuck, was he strong. He could throw a punch that knocked you out until dawn and pin you faster than any professional fighter Peter had ever seen. Peter always assumed that came from growing up on the south side of Illinois. Ian had said they grew up in a shitty neighborhood with even shittier home situations. Mickey’s was worse than Ian’s but neither left anything to be desired. It was why Mickey was so protective over Ian. Basically became his bodyguard in addition to being his boyfriend. But underneath all that anger and sometimes over inflated masculinity was a sweetheart. Ian was damn lucky to have him. 

“I just- wish it was different, you know?” 

Mickey nodded but didn’t say anything more and Peter took that as his cue to leave. 

“I gotta get back in there before Sap catches me. Covering for Justin tonight and if I’m not on stage in 10 he’ll have my ass. Thanks for the joint Mick, and the jacket.” 

“Hey, no problem Rihanna,” Mickey shouted and Peter felt his entire body flush. He didn’t feel the slightest bit bad flipping him off on the way inside.

* * *

 

Peter’s head was a mess. The fresh air and joint didn’t help in the slightest and he felt like a frayed nerve, irritated and exposed. He was so distracted attempting to sort through the emotions rattling around in his skull he nearly collided with Ian in the staff 

“Whoa, hey man, you 

He shook his head when his voice failed him and nearly started crying when Ian’s strong arms wrapped him in a tight 

“Do you need to talk about it?"

It took everything in him not to start crying into the man’s shoulder. “Probably, but not now. Right now I just want to forget.” 

Ian pulled back and smiled, tucking a loose strand of Peter’s wig behind his ear. “I can help you with that. Come with me.” 

Peter followed Ian back into the dressing rooms, shifting awkwardly on the balls of his feet as Ian dug through his locker for a small, green plastic tube. 

“M&Ms?” Peter asked suspiciously to which Ian grinned widely at. 

“Last place anyone would ever check. And hell, these look like candy anyway.” 

Ian popped a couple pills into his hand, one shaped like a star and the other a skull. Peter remembered a trite and overused phrase from 6th grade with pictures of drugs that looked just like these. ‘Remember kids, say no to drugs!’

“Ecstasy?” Peter asked and the man grinned, placing the skull on his tongue with a flirtatious wave of his eyebrows. 

“Better high than pot and stronger blackout than alcohol. It’ll give you that feel good high you’re looking for.” 

Peter’s better judgement was buzzing in the back of his skull like an angry bumblebee but the pain in his heart was winning out. He needed to forget tonight, especially if he was going to make it to 2 am without an emotional break down. 

“Alright, hand it over.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the outdoor smoking scene with Mickey in my head one night and it spurred this whole ass fic. I just love Mickey Milkovich man.


	3. Man of Mystery

 

Tony hadn’t seen the young man since the end of his set and he was starting to feel anxious. The buzz from the alcohol was beginning to fade, and the pain in his chest was increasing. He needed a distraction, preferably one in a black halter top and wig. He scanned the crowd for him once more before spotting him grinding on the lap of some guy almost twice Tony’s age. Tony nearly threw up on the spot. 

Feeling the unjustified wave of jealousy bubbling under his skin, he flagged the red headed waiter down. Tony frowned when he saw the kids eyes. He was even more blitzed out of his skull than before, if that was possible. 

“Hey you,” the redhead flirted, but Tony wasn’t in the mood. “Hey. He fucks for money right?” He said, not having the energy to be tactful. The man recoiled like he’d been struck, flirty smile gone and replaced with a fierce protectiveness. 

“Keep your damn voice down!” he hissed, “What, are you  _ trying  _ to get us shut down?”

Tony fought to roll his eyes. He was losing his patience. “Is that a yes or a no?” 

The younger boy huffed, tucking a loose strand of red hair back behind his ear. “Yeah, okay? For  _ certain _ people  **only** . You want to fuck, you’ll have to ask him yourself. I suggest paying for a dance first.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away. That was fine, Tony had other matters to attend to.  

Pay for a dance? He could do that. Hell he had enough money to buy the place and send all the strippers to medical school. Sweet talk the younger dancer? Not a problem. Tony has decades of experience sweeping people off his feet.

_ Yikes. Maybe don’t emphasize on the decades part Tony.  _

What he didn’t have was patience. He hated not getting what he wanted right away. He was so used to buying whatever he wanted, when he wanted. In actuality he’d only have to wait 4 minutes max, but that was still too long for Tony. He pulled himself from the chair and moved to the bar, slapping a few bills on the counter to cover another double shot. He downed it quickly before crossing into the section that provided lap dances. 

* * *

The guy under Peter was an absolute pig, but the E helped numb out the over-eager touches that left his skin crawling and made bile rise in his throat. It was only 3 minutes and 23 seconds he said, over and over in his head like a mantra. 

_ 3 minutes and 23 seconds.  _

_ 2 minutes and 41 seconds. _

_ 1 minute and 3 seconds.  _

_ 42 seconds. _

_ Done.  _

The second the song ended Peter peeled his body from atop the older man’s, huffing and holding his hand out for his payment. He usually wasn’t this blunt about things, but the man was revolting, and Peter wanted to be rid of him as soon as possible. 

The man didn’t appreciate his curtness and scowled, muttering something that sounded a lot like “stupid whore,” as he pulled out some loose bills. Peter rolled his eyes. The guy probably thought they had a “connection” or some shit. He tried really fucking hard not to laugh. 

While Peter impatiently waited for payment, he glanced up at the clock above the bar and smiled. His shift was almost over! Just 20 minutes to go. Maybe he’d get lucky and he could sneak into the bathroom before anyone else could ask for a dance. He couldn't wait until he could scrub the man’s scent off his skin. Just 15 steps and he’d be at the door. Home free. 

He snatched the bills out of the man’s fat, outstretched hand and angled his body towards the door. 13 steps, 10. Almost there. 

“Hey! Wait up!” 

The new man’s voice felt like a bucket of ice water, soaking him to the bone in cold, unforgiving reality. Peter’s fists clenched and his nostrils flared. Of course. Of fucking  _ course  _ luck wasn’t on his side tonight. Why would it be? He half debated blowing the man off and just walking out forever. But then who would pay the rent? The heating bills? Buy the groceries?  _ May? _ No way. She still hasn’t left the house since Ben died, and her unemployment benefits run out at the end of this month. So really, no, he didn't have a choice. He took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes. He could dance for another 4 minutes, make enough to keep the water on and then treat himself to a very VERY hot shower when he got home. 

He plastered on his best fake, flirting smile and turned around.  

“Yes?” 

“How much for a dance?” 

“I-” 

When Peter finally registered the man in front of him he almost gasped. He didn't expect, well,  _ this _ . First and foremost, the man was breathtakingly handsome. Older, but that didn't matter much. His facial hair was perfectly manicured and besides some laugh lines his skin was nearly flawless. It was obvious the man put a lot of effort into his look and that was a definite trait Peter admired. He wondered if the rest of him was this beautiful under all that clothing. And his eyes, he couldn't help but be captivated by them. The club lights didn’t do them justice, he was sure of that. He wondered what they looked like when the sun shined on them. 

The man smiled then, crooked like something was funny but Peter didn’t understand what. It was then and only then he realized he had been caught staring so intently. His cheeks flushed pink and he shook his head to clear it, his nervous stutter making its presence known. 

“Uh s-sorry. What did you say?”

The man smiled fully now, the sides of his eyes crinkling and making him look that much sexier.  _ Yeah Peter had a thing for slightly older men, sue him.  _

“How much for a dance?”

“Two hundred,” Peter said, muscle memory by now, before he realized he was actually a little short for rent this month. Thinking quickly, he said, “You’re always welcome to tip more though.”

The man laughed at that, but it wasn’t cruel and mocking like some customers’. It was light and encouraging, like the man appreciated his courage to ask for more. He pulled out his wallet and placed the two bills in Peter’s hand. Peter raised an eyebrow. 

“Payment up front makes everything easier right?” 

Well, Peter couldn’t argue with that. He folded the cash and placed it inside the zipped pocket of his halter for safe keeping, motioning to a cushioned booth for the man to sit in. But the older man stayed in place, his eyes on something behind Peter.  

“How much to go back there?” He asked, nodding his chin towards the private rooms. Peter looked, snorting before turning back. 

“More than you can afford,” Peter sassed playfully. 

The man’s eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Try me,” he fired back, not at all intimidated by Peter’s sass. If anything it seemed to enjoy the fire.  

“Thousand,” Peter said easily, “Per hour.” Ok that was a lie. It was only 600, but Peter wasn’t sure he was up for more sex after everything that happened earlier with Harry. But if someone was willing to cover his bills? Ehh, maybe. 

The man was quiet for a moment, before nodding and digging into his wallet again. Peter clenched his teeth together to keep from letting his jaw drop in shock. That was until the man frowned. Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes. He knew it. 

“Looks like I’m a little short. There an ATM in this place?” 

Peter’s jaw did drop open now, but he snapped it shut before the man could see.  _ Interesting _ . Peter quickly attempted to regain his composure. 

“By the bar.” 

The older man could see right through him but winked anyway. “Be right back then, don’t go anywhere Sweetheart.”

When the man was far enough away, Peter let out a strained laugh, shaking his head in shock at how the evening was turning out. Tonight might have started out pretty shitty, but it might just end well after all.

* * *

The rest of the night began with a strip tease, at the man’s request. Sap was really thinking when he designed the private rooms. In the corner farthest from the door was a pole, slightly thicker than the ones on the show floor and gold instead of silver. The man had also requested he stay in the same outfit for the duration of the performance. Knowing without a doubt someone found him attractive in all this made the stupid theme night worth it.  

He walked over to the speaker system, shuffling through the different music profiles until he found Ian’s. The man always had better music taste than him. He hit the shuffle play button and returned to the small stage. The beginnings of a guitar solo played, followed by a very catchy drum beat. When the second solo added in and the vocals started, Peter laughed out loud. The first song  _ would  _ be Pour Some Sugar On Me. 

The man smiled, amused by Peter’s sudden laughter. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Peter laughs and begins to move to the beat of the song. “This song is just really old.”

The man laughs as well, just as Peter climbs up the top of the pole and readies himself for the Stag position. 

“It’s not _ that  _ old.”

The guys laughter twists something in Peter’s stomach that he doesn't want to think about while he’s  _ this  _ high.  Peter raises an eyebrow, transitioning up the pole before looking at him with a raised brow. He held up his hands in amused surrender.  

“Alright, alright. It’s pretty old.”

“Told ya,” Peter smiled smugly. 

“How old are you?”

Peter stalled a little on the pole. He knew the question was coming, it always did. But he chose to ignore it. He was having too good of a time for something stupid like his age to make it stop. He flipped on the pole and slid down into the splits.

The motion occupied the man’s attention enough that Peter could easily change the subject. 

The next song began and Peter took this opportunity to crawl off the stage and into the man’s lap. He felt the man’s breath hitch and smiled, watching the neurons in his brain misfire at the sudden display of submission. 

He began his dance on the man’s lap, finding he didn’t mind when the man finally decided to touch. He liked the warm feel of palms on his lower back, or a sharp grip on his left thigh when Peter rocked his hips into the man’s groin. Everything felt so good, Peter hadn’t had an enjoyable lap dance in months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God one day I'll update on a more regular basis.


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